The Cassie Chronicles
by xerxia31
Summary: A series of vignettes exploring the life of single daddy Peeta Mellark, and his hot neighbour Katniss Everdeen. Originally written for the Tumblr blog everlarkbirthdaydrabbles.
1. Chapter 1

Part one of a series of drabbles in this universe, written for the tumblr blog everlarkbirthdaydrabbles

* * *

"Katnith!" There's a high-pitched approximation of her name just before a tiny bundle of energy collides with her knees in a five-year-old's version of a hug. Katniss can't suppress a laugh as she drops her grocery bags and keys, bending to embrace the little girl with crazy curls and her father's gorgeous blue eyes.

"Hey Katniss." She glances up at the much deeper voice of little Cassie's outrageously hot father. He's bogged down like a pack mule with the assorted detritus that little girls travel with; Hello Kitty backpack, books, bright pink two-wheeler, oversized stuffed cat, purple pillow… and a pint-sized rolling suitcase.

"Going somewhere?" Katniss asks, standing and shifting Cassie onto her hip with practiced ease. Peeta sighs.

"Apparently not."

"Grandma hath a headache," Cassie blurts. Her front teeth are gone and her S's are charmingly absent. Katniss glances over at Peeta, who looks defeated. His mother is the least reliable babysitter on the planet.

"Oh Peeta, not again," she frowns. He just shrugs. It's then that she realizes how dressed up he is. His tie, a deep blue that brings out his eyes, has been loosened and hangs haphazardly from the collar of his crisp white dress shirt. Sharply pressed black trousers sit over trim hips, shiny shoes peek out from the cuffs and a matching suit jacket dangles over his arm.

She shakes her head a little to snap herself out of her trance. He thankfully hasn't noticed her openly leering at him. "I can sit with Cassie tonight, if you want," Katniss offers. She feels bad that he so seldom gets out. Apart from his unreliable mother, he doesn't appear to know very many people in the city, and Cassie's mother is long out of the picture.

"Oh, no, I couldn't ask you to give up your Friday night like that, Katniss," he stammers, and the tips of his ears turn pink. She smirks.

"Yeah, you'd be interrupting my hot date with Netflix," she deadpans. "Besides, you didn't ask, I offered. Give me ten minutes to put away my groceries and I'll come over." She enjoys spending time with Cassie, the little girl is sweet and reminds her of her own younger sister.

"You're gonna come play, Katnith?" Cassie smiles, gap-toothed and irresistible. "Daddy thaid we're gonna have piztha!" Katniss glances over at Peeta for confirmation. He's staring at her with a gentle smile teasing his full lips.

"Are you sure, Katniss?" he says softly, and her insides turn to jello. The way he says her name has been doing strange things to her ever since he moved into the building six months ago.

"Yeah, of course."

* * *

She walks down the hall and taps on his apartment door 9 minutes later. The groceries had been quick to deal with, but she took a few extra minutes to wash her face and rebraid her hair.

"So I ordered the pizza for you already," Peeta says as he ushers her into his place. "Bacon and mushrooms, right?" She's ridiculously pleased that he remembered her preferences from the one time before that they'd shared a pizza. "And all of the emergency numbers are on the fridge. I'll have my phone with me the whole time, but just in case, I'll be at _Salinas_." Katniss raises an eyebrow, _Salinas_ is an expensive restaurant and Peeta teaches grade school. He grimaces slightly at her expression. "Yeah, it's a little out of my comfort zone, but she picked it."

It's not like Peeta dates all that much, but from what she's seen he has a terrible habit of picking incredibly shallow women who are nowhere near good enough for him. At least he never introduces any of them to his daughter.

He runs his hand through his hair again, looking adorably nervous. "I, well, uh, yeah, I guess…" he trails off, cutting his eyes towards the door.

"Hang on a sec," she says softly, stepping forward until they're practically toe to toe. She can hear the hitch in his breath as she reaches for him, gently adjusting his tie, her fingers just grazing his jaw when she straightens his collar. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, she finds herself wondering how the faint rasp of stubble on his chiselled chin would feel under her tongue. Her hands rest for just a moment on Peeta's chest, his heart pounds under her fingers, his eyes drop to her lips.

"Katnith!" Cassie's voice rings through the room and they spring apart like guilty children, but Katniss doesn't miss how dilated his pupils are. "Come on," the little girl squeaks, tugging at Katniss' hand. "Come play Barbie!"

"Do I get a goodbye, Princess?" Peeta smiles from ear to ear as his daughter jumps into his arms. He's completely devoted to the little girl, and Katniss adores that about him. Over the months they've been neighbors she's watched him take Cassie everywhere, seen him dressed in a crown and tutu, been the recipient of Daddy-and-Cassie made cookies, even joined in an impromptu dance party or two. He's clearly made to be a parent.

He heads towards the door, but lingers with his hand on the knob, gazing back at her with longing. She wishes she could ask him to stay.

* * *

Katniss is curled up on the sofa, playing Candy Crush on her phone when the apartment door opens. It's still early, Cassie has only been snoring softly in her room maybe an hour. "That was a short date?"

Peeta tosses his jacket on a chair before flopping onto the couch beside her, so close that their knees brush. "Yeah, well, my heart wasn't really in it," he admits, and his expression speaks volumes. "How was your evening?"

"It was really good, we read Peppa Pig about fifteen times I think." Peeta laughs and she joins him. "Cassie is a really great kid."

"She really likes you," he says, yanking off his tie and unbuttoning the top of his shirt. Katniss wants to nuzzle the hollow of his throat, inhale his scent. She closes her eyes just briefly before plastering on a smile.

"I really like her too. Oh, we saved you some pizza, since the portions at that hoity toity restaurant are pretty puny."

He laughs. "You're the best, Katniss." He stands, and she's surprised when he offers her a hand, tugging her gently off the couch. "Come join me in a slice?" he murmurs, leading her into the kitchen. He doesn't release her hand.

She reaches for the fridge door, but Peeta stops her with a little tug on her arm that has her spinning to face him. "Katniss?" His voice is gravelly. "I… fuck," he groans, frustrated. She takes a step closer, feeling the heat of his skin just inches away, the heady scent of his cologne.

"What is it?" she whispers, made brave by his proximity, by the way his hand trembles in hers.

"Tonight, when I was, well, when I was out," he stammers. "All I could think about was how much I'd rather be here. With you."

She bites her lip to temper the enormous grin threatening. They've been dancing around each other for months, and finally it seems like they might be on the same page.

His shoulders relax at her reaction. "I like you, Katniss. I'd really like to take you out some time. Will you allow it?"

"I'll allow it." He leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against hers, light as a whisper.

"I'd really like to kiss you now," he breathes.

"I'll allow that too."


	2. Chapter 2

Second installment from the Cassie universe. Written for the Tumblr blog everlarkbirthdaydrabbles

* * *

My daughter's squeals of delight ripple through the playground, lighting smiles on the faces of an elderly couple enjoying a quiet morning walk. It's early; only a handful of souls brave the park when the sun has been up less than an hour.

Her little voice shrieking _higher_ grabs my attention, and I turn back to the swings. Under Cassie's laughter is a second voice, soft and husky, flowing like warm caramel as she coaxes my little girl to hang on tight.

Katniss.

Her ebony hair is twisted back, loose tendrils float around her face in the breeze. My fingers itch to tame them.

My fingers itch to tame so much more than her hair.

We've been dating a month now, though it's hard to call it dating. We spend time together, eat together, watch television together, just like we'd been doing as friends for months. And, just like all of those months, Cassie is always with us.

 _Always._

I try to make plans for just the two of us but they never seem to pan out. Something always gets in the way. My mother is an unreliable babysitter at best, and I have a hard time trusting other people to watch my little girl.

But Katniss hasn't balked, not even once, when my pint-sized third wheel has accompanied us on 'dates'. On the contrary, she always seems so happy to see Cassie, even planning outings that the three of us can do together.

Of course I'm thrilled that Cassie and Katniss get along so well, I could never be with a woman who doesn't adore my daughter. But I want more. I want to take Katniss on a real date, somewhere that the placemats don't double as colouring books. I want just a slice of her undivided attention. I want to stare into her silver eyes by candlelight, I want to listen to her musical voice discussing something other than whether Tarzan is Elsa and Anna's brother.

And quick stolen kisses, while incredible, just aren't enough.

The first time I met Katniss was just days after Cassie and I moved into our apartment. I was struggling to drag a cranky, overtired, overwhelmed not quite five-year-old down the hall in the early morning, trying to gently shush her so her whining wouldn't wake our new neighbors. When Katniss climbed off the elevator, dressed in running gear, every muscle in her toned torso glistening, I knew, without a doubt, that she was way out of my league. In fact, I barely glanced at her because I knew all too well that gorgeous cosmopolitan women like that have no time for men with baggage. I figured she'd brush by, maybe glare at the squawking little girl who had dug her heels into the industrial carpeting and was progressively getting louder.

Instead, Katniss headed directly to us, crouched down to my daughter's level and initiated a conversation about _Totoro_ , the anime character on both my daughter's shirt and Katniss's phone case. Cassie was smitten.

So was I.

Over the months, I got to know Katniss. She's quirky and she's kind. She's funny as hell. She can be incredibly intense. And she's sexy. Fuck is she sexy.

But even as we cultivated a friendship, even as she slid so seamlessly into our lives, I never dared dream she could want more.

Until that night.

That night she watched Cassie so I could go on a date with a vapid woman at an overpriced restaurant. Katniss looked at me that night, her eyes soft with longing and I could barely tear myself away. That night I sat across the table from a woman whose name I can't even remember, tuning out her droning about designer handbags and wishing I was home with my girls.

That night I kissed Katniss in my kitchen.

"Daddy!" My moppet colliding with my legs snaps me out of my head. She's even a pint-sized daydream cockblocker! But she's mine, and I adore her. Katniss is grinning so widely watching us, sometimes the petty, insecure part of me wonders if it's only Cassie that she's interested in, and I'm just a collateral part of that.

But I scoop my daughter into my arms, and feel Katniss's hand on my back as I straighten. She's smiling up at me, and I know, as impossible as it seems, that the adoration in those stunning silver eyes is for me. "Where were you?" she asks softly, her eyes holding mine hostage.

"Dreaming of you," I tell her honestly, and the faint flush that climbs her neck and spreads across her cheeks makes my heart swell. I don't hesitate to follow its path with gentle fingers. Her skin is like silk, the desire to trace all of it with fingertips and lips has me shifting uncomfortably.

* * *

Her name is Rue and she comes highly recommended by the mother of one of my students. She's had two supervised playdates with Cassie, she seems caring and competent, definitely more mature than her youth would suggest.

Doesn't make me any less worried though.

Any doubts I might have had about Katniss being interested in me, as opposed to just my daughter, were vanquished when I told her I'd found a babysitter and wanted to take her out, just the two of us, alone, finally. Her incredible eyes lit up and she smiled like I was giving her the sun.

* * *

Cassie is a little warm, a little tired, and while I'm not one of those overbearing parents I'm a bit concerned about leaving her. But Rue seems capable, and Cassie lights up when she arrives. I leave Rue and Cassie colouring, the fridge stocked with sandwiches and snacks, a list of emergency numbers and a promise that my phone will be on at all times. I can't remember ever being so nervous. But when Katniss opens her apartment door everything else falls away.

She's beautiful, naturally beautiful, I've always thought so. But while she'd be beautiful wearing a potato sack she's instead wearing a stunning red dress, the kind that criss crosses in the front, and makes her breasts look gift-wrapped. For several long moments I can only stare, slack-jawed. It's only when she laughs self-consciously that I snap out of it.

"You look incredible, Katniss," I tell her, unable to resist reaching out to touch her hair, hanging loose and softly curled, framing her face so perfectly. I don't think I've ever seen her with her hair down before, never dreamed it'd be so thick and silken. Lush. A sordid mental image of those locks brushing against my chest while she rides me hard sends a bolt of desire straight downwards and I have to think about differential equations to prevent myself from pitching a trouser tent before we've even left the floor. "Shall we?" I offer her my arm, and her hand slides around my bicep as if it belongs there.

I check my phone twice during the cab ride, sending a quick request for an update, which Rue answers right away with an 'all is well'. My apologetic glance at Katniss is met with a soft smile. "We can go back," Katniss offers, but I insist that they'll be fine.

I chose a tiny, quirky Italian restaurant, a recommendation from a colleague, and it's perfect. Candles, soft music, tables tucked away in little alcoves that give the illusion of privacy. We order wine and chat; she's relaxed and funny, full of anecdotes from her office. My phone sits face up on the table in front of me, and while I should be thrilled that it's silent I can't stop myself from worrying. I send another quick message to Rue, but this one isn't answered right away.

After we order our meals we lapse into silence, and I know that's my fault, I just haven't been able to keep my mind on the conversation. When my phone buzzes I practically jump on it, and Rue and I engage in a back and forth. Her answers concern me enough that I phone her. She fills me in; how Cassie looks flushed, how she's not interested in eating even though I left all of her favourites. I'm chewing on my lip, debating what to do next when I hear Katniss's voice float across the table.

"This isn't going to work."

My heart sinks. But how can I blame her? This gorgeous, vibrant woman deserves so much better than a wreck who can't even hold a 15-minute conversation, who has spent the entirety of the 45 minutes or so that we've been out together on his phone. I glance up, intending on begging forgiveness, offering every apology, but she's not even looking at me. Instead she's flagging down our waiter. "Would you be able to pack our meals to go?" she asks him. "We have a little emergency at home." He nods and walks briskly away, and I steel myself, staring forlornly at the glass of Beaujolais I barely drank half of. But when she turns back she's smiling, albeit sadly.

"I'm sorry, Katniss." The words sound hollow though. It's been a month. An entire month that I've been stringing her along. She reaches across and covers my hand with hers.

"It's fine, Peeta. I'm worried about her too." At that I glance up, but she's completely sincere. "Let's just take our meal back to your place, get Cassie comfortable, and then we can eat and chat there, if you're still up for it. Okay?"

"You still want to be with me?" It's about the stupidest sounding thing that's ever fallen out of my face, but shock at her words has stolen my sense. I figured she'd let me down gently, she's a sweet person after all. But this?

"Well, yeah," she says, her eyebrows furrowed. "Don't you?"

"So much, Katniss. So very much. I'm just, damn. You deserve better than this." She just shakes her head, like I don't understand. Maybe I don't.

The cab ride back is quiet, I keep expecting her to bolt but instead she holds my hand and hums along with the radio.

Cassie is in bed, sleeping. She's no longer warm to the touch but her curls are soaked with sweat and plastered to her forehead. The fever must have broken. Still, I wipe down her face with a cool cloth, and leave a cup of water on her bedside table. She doesn't stir.

When I finally leave Cassie's room, Rue is gone. I find Katniss in the kitchen, reheating our meals. "I paid Rue and walked her home," she says without turning around. Rue only lives in the building across the street, but it's dark out. On top of everything else, I'd left poor Katniss to deal with the sitter. I'm an ass.

Katniss has set the little kitchen table with dishes and wine glasses. Her hair is twisted up on top of her head in a messy bun, her heels discarded. She's even more impossibly gorgeous. "How is Cassie?" she asks.

"Better, I think," I answer softly, fiddling in the cabinets. "Shit, I don't think I even have candles here."

"We don't need them," she says. I step behind her, wrapping my arms around her, pressing my lips against her neck. She sighs, and spins in my arms. "I don't need fancy, Peeta. I just need you."

"Katniss, I'm so sorry…" She presses a pair of soft fingers across my lips to stop me.

"Peeta, stop. It's okay, really. I understand." Before she can lower her hand I catch it with my own and press a kiss to her fingers.

"You are amazing," I tell her. It's such an inadequate word for this woman. She laughs.

"I don't know about that, but I'm definitely hungry!"

I refuse to let this second chance go to waste. I've done absolutely nothing to show this incredible woman that I'm serious about her. That I think I'm falling in love with her. I need to change that.

Instead of pulling out her chair, I tug her into my lap. She looks surprised, but pleased, and I can feel myself start to relax for the first time all day.

This time she has my undivided attention. We share bites of pasta primavera and chicken, laugh over sips of white wine. My fingers dance patterns over her hip, she squirms in response. It's a most delicious torture. "I'm sorry we didn't order dessert," I joke. "The chocolate cake is apparently to die for." Her responding smile is sultry.

"I can think of something I'd like better than chocolate cake right now," she murmurs.

I wish I had something witty to say, or could impress her with pretty words. Instead I kiss her hard, the bitterness of cheap chardonnay contrasting with her own inherent sweetness. And she doesn't hold back, hands winding in my hair, tugging just hard enough to feel like a chastisement. Just hard enough to make my dick throb.

Those straight white teeth that I've watched sink into her bottom lip so fucking alluringly when she's pensive are now nipping at my lip, and I growl in response. She laughs against my lips and I'm a goner. It's good, it's so good, kissing her like this, but I need more. "Katniss," I groan, "I want - can we - please?" Little puffs of incoherency emerge between kisses edged with desperation. Finally I manage to get out the important word. "Bedroom?"

"Finally," she breathes, and the rush of arousal is tempered with a bit of shame. Somehow, inexplicably, this gorgeous creature has been waiting for me to get my act together. And she's still here, still waiting. I tuck my arm under her knees and stand with her in my arms. I've never done this before, carried a woman 'bridal style', and it should feel like a ridiculous cliché, but it doesn't. Her arms wrap around my neck, the feeling of her body pressed against mine, her scent surrounding me, the trust she's put in me not to let her fall. It's such a turn on.

So is the sensation of her tongue tracing patterns along my jaw.

It's a miracle that we don't fall, staggering to the bedroom with more blood in my dick than in my head. When I set her on her feet beside my bed it's like time slows down. I can only stare, breathing hard, trying to figure out if this is real or yet another Katniss-centric wet dream. She answers my unspoken question by stretching up to kiss me again.

Her clever fingers slip each of my shirt buttons, blunt nails dragging until she can push my dress shirt off my shoulders. I pull away only long enough to rip off the t-shirt underneath, but I don't miss the look of appreciation she shoots me before I capture her lips again.

My fingers tangle in her hair, finally managing to pull out the clip that holds her raven locks captive; they spill like a silken cloud all around us, lush and lavender scented.

I try to push that smoking hot dress off her shoulders but she steps back; pulling a tie at her hip. Then with a shrug and a smirk the fabric slides off her shoulders to pool on the floor. "Oh fuck," I gasp.

Her lacy bra and tiny, tiny panties are also red. Her body is more incredible than I'd dared dream. Olive skin, smooth and taut and flawless and all on display for me, a buffet of epic proportions and I want to taste everything. Katniss snickers at my slack jawed expression. "You act like you've never seen breasts." Her hands cup those luscious mounds as she teases me, and my body shudders.

"It's been a very long time," I admit. Cassie's mother has been gone nearly five years; I've barely dated since, and one night stands aren't my thing.

"Let's change that," she whispers, and then we're kissing again, her soft body pressed against mine. Her hand snakes down to cup me over my slacks and I moan far too loudly. "Shhhh," she murmurs in my ear and the sensation, combined with her hand rubbing me just right makes me whimper.

It's been so long and I'm so hard, I'm going to embarrass myself if I don't take control, so I guide her over to the bed. When she lies back across my comforter my breath catches. She's utterly gorgeous, lidded eyes, swollen lips, and flushed cheeks. "Peeta," she sighs and it's a plea.

I almost don't know where to begin, every inch of her is a wonder begging to be discovered. But the swells of red lace are too tempting. They fill my hands perfectly, nipples stiff against my palms, begging for my mouth. I'm too impatient to figure out the clasp, simply pushing the straps down to expose perfect tits topped with firm dark nipples that I waste no time tasting. She sighs softly as I suckle one, then the other, back and forth. Somehow she unfastens the scraps of fabric, I don't even lift my head as I toss her bra across the room.

It's when I bite, at first just gently, that she really reacts, grasping my head and arching, silently encouraging me, bucking and squirming. She's so responsive, it's the hottest thing I've ever experienced.

And then she's shoving me off of her; my heart stutters in my chest as I land on my back. But she crawls over me, lips curved up in a wicked smirk as she works on my belt, pulling it from the loops almost sensuously. "Do you have any idea, Mr. Mellark," she murmurs, barely a whisper, "How long I've been waiting for this?" She makes short work of my trousers, shucking them along with my boxers, then pausing to stare at me the way I'd been staring at her. Her tongue snakes out to wet her bottom lip and my dick twitches. She smirks again.

Her small hand grasping me nearly pushes me over the edge, I'm wound so tightly. "Katniss," I growl as she strokes me just right, just perfectly. "You're gonna have to stop or I'm not going to last."

She squeezes my dick, and I swear I nearly go cross-eyed. "I don't care," she breathes as her head descends. The first flicks of her tongue across the head are the most exquisite agony. And when her hot mouth engulfs me fully I can do nothing but moan. She hums around my cock and I'm lost. It's only when she crawls back up my body, pressing her lips hard against mine, swallowing my moans, that I realize how loud I've been. "Shhh, you have to be quiet," she says against my lips, "We don't want to wake Cassie." The swell of love I feel for this woman threatens to overwhelm me.

"Then keep my mouth covered," I tell her, and she looks at me in confusion as I shuffle down the bed a little. "Let's lose these, shall we?" I try to drag the tiny panties, no more than a triangle of lace and a couple of ribbons, down her firm thighs but she stills my hand. Her nimble fingers loosen the bows at her hips and the fabric falls away. Fuck that's hot.

When I grab her ass and pull her to straddle my face she grins. "Grab the headboard," I murmur, the words ghosting along her centre, already glistening with her arousal. "And hold on."

She's tense at first, uncertain; trembling as I part her folds with my tongue. She tastes incredible. I explore her thoroughly with tongue and lips and teeth, measuring her reaction by the way her body moves, by the little gasps and moans she tries to muffle with her arm. And when I find the right combination she lets down her defences, riding my face, whispered curse words falling like praise from her perfect lips.

Watching her is erotic, her head thrown back, breasts swaying with each undulation of her hips. When I work my hand between us to press two fingers into her waiting heat she looks down at me, and as our eyes lock I feel the first tremors of her approaching orgasm. She whimpers my name, eyes heavy, a single bead of sweat slithering along her torso.

Fuck she's gorgeous.

She bites her lip, struggling to keep quiet as she comes. Fuck, I need to have her somewhere that she can let go, that I can make her scream my name. And I will. But first, I just need her.

Katniss slumps, boneless, and I pull her against me, holding her while her body shakes, kissing her hair, her cheeks. She opens those incredible silver eyes, huge and guileless. "Please tell me you have a condom," she breathes.

The brand new box of magnums are in my bedside table, the look Katniss gives me when I break the seal is equal parts amusement and affection. I shrug, a little sheepish. "I hoped," I start, but stop when she takes the gold foil packet from my hand. I can't tear my eyes away, watching her hand tremble just a bit as she rolls the prophylactic down my length. The idea that she's even just a little nervous is so incredibly endearing, and motivates me to take control. It's been a decade since my high school wrestling days, but I still have some moves.

Pinned under me, she keens. "Please, Peeta!" My cock is aching, it feels like I've been hard for a month. My hips snap forward and she groans as I fill her. She's so tight; so hot and wet and tight and so much better than my fist in the shower. So much better than my fantasies. She's real; her nails claw at my shoulder, her calves wrap around my thighs. I'm not gonna last.

I grunt and moan with every thrust, pressing the sounds into her neck. Her breathless pants of _yes_ and _harder_ spur me on, until I can't tell where I end and she begins. It's never been like this for me before. "Katniss, fuck Katniss, you feel so good. So good."

She swallows the rest of my words, kissing me hard. "Peeta," she whines.

"Shit, oh fuck I can't..." I confess, increasing my speed, fucking her hard as my balls tighten, and before I can even warn her, I'm coming.

I come for a long time; pulsing into the condom, fireworks exploding behind my eyes, my every muscle taut. Then everything slackens at once, I barely catch myself from crushing her, still breathing hard and babbling praises. She strokes my back soothingly, but her body is tense under me, only when my post orgasmic haze starts to clear do I realize that she didn't come. It was just too quick, after so long my stamina was shit. That won't do.

I slip free, moving a hand between us to stroke her. I play no games; establishing a rhythm that has her bucking and mewling. She clings to me, and it's just so damned good. A litany of dirty words pours out, murmured in her ear. _So fucking hot. Want to make you scream all night. That's it baby. Come for me._ And she does.

I'm silent, drifting on waves of contentment, on the edge of sleep when I feel her start to pull away from my embrace. "No, stay with me Katniss," I beg, tightening my grip.

"Cassie?" she whispers, and I know what she means. Do I really want my daughter to discover her here in the morning?

"Please stay," I repeat as sleep pulls me under. She whispers something back that I don't catch.

* * *

She's not beside me in the morning and disappointment floods my gut. But faint voices float through the door.

I find her in the living room, wearing one of my shirts and a huge smile. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is an absolute rats nest. Cassie is perched in her lap, giggling while Katniss plaits her fine golden curls.

My heart clenches; in front of me is everything I have ever wanted. A picture of domestic bliss even more perfect than my wildest dreams. Katniss glances up at me and smiles, she looks so happy I can't help hoping that she feels it too, the _rightness_ of her being here. Of us being here together.

"Daddy!" my little girl shrills, her grin showing off the gap where her front teeth haven't yet grown in. "Can you make pancakes for me and Katnith?"


	3. Chapter 3

Third installment from the Cassie universe.

* * *

I never loved her mother.

I wish I had; every little girl deserves to hear her parents' love story, the fairytale that culminated in her birth. But my daughter won't get to hear that story.

"What happened next, Daddy!" I glance at my little girl, bundled up in her flannel jammies and wrapped in a _Frozen_ quilt, waiting not so patiently for me to turn the page in her storybook.

"Then Rapunzel was reunited with the King and Queen, and there were celebrations all throughout the land." Cassie listens, but she's more interested in the illustrations. At just six, she already has an artistic eye. My mind wanders back to her mother.

We were barely acquaintances. It was a drunken one night stand, my junior year of college. But when we found out about the pregnancy we agreed to work together to raise our child. And for a while, life was good.

It didn't last.

Glim was fantastic through the pregnancy, especially when she found out we were having a girl. She took care of herself, took Lamaze classes with me, filled our apartment with tiny pink outfits.

But things changed rapidly after Cassie was born. The idea of a baby was apparently much more compelling to Glimmer than the reality. Within weeks of the birth, she was out partying nearly every night, and she spent less and less time with the baby as the weeks went by. Until finally, she just didn't come back.

At 22, I was a newly graduated single parent to a six-month-old. I had no choice but to move back home.

My mother took us in, even helped with Cassie a little, but she was disgusted with me. She insisted that I had destroyed my life with my stupidity; that no decent woman would ever marry me now.

But it didn't matter, because I was already in love. I fell in love with Cassie the very first time I held her in my arms, red and squirmy and squalling. And I knew she was mine, _always_ , the moment she locked eyes with me. The same eyes I see every day in the mirror.

"Daddy!" She tugs on my sleeve to grab my attention. "The Queen is Rapunzel's mommy."

"That's right, Princess. And the King is her daddy."

"And you're my daddy," she smiles. But then her expression turns pensive. I know what comes next. "I don't have a mommy." It's not the first time she's said it; princess storybooks, Mother's Day crafts at school, playdates. All of those things trigger the questions.

I have sole custody of Cassie. Glimmer hasn't seen our daughter since she left us nearly six years ago. It would be a lie to say that I don't harbour some anger about that. Even still, I never disparage Glimmer when Cassie has questions. I don't want her to ever be ashamed of that half of herself.

She's silent for a while, small fingers tracing the picture of Rapunzel in her parents' embrace. "Daddy?" She whispers and I brace for the inevitable ' _when will my mommy come to see me_ ' onslaught.

But she surprises me. "Can Katniss be my mommy?" I'm momentarily speechless. Katniss and I have been dating for nine months now. I know Cassie adores her, and I know the feeling is mutual. And it'd be a lie to say I've never thought of asking Katniss to marry me. Hell, I've been to the jeweller near the school where I teach four times, browsing. But fear of how Cassie might react to having Katniss as a permanent part of our family has held me back.

Now she's bringing it up herself.

"I love Katniss," she says softly. "She gives me lots of hugs and paints my nails and sings all of Elsa's songs." I chuckle. Katniss is endlessly patient with Cassie's _Frozen_ obsession. Listening to her sing those Disney tunes in her gorgeous, sultry voice is one of my favourite things too. When Katniss sings, even the birds stop to listen.

Cassie crawls into my lap, squashing my cheeks between her hands. "I'm the Princess," she says, her bright blue eyes serious. "And you're the King. Can Katniss be the Queen and live in our castle forever?" My heart clenches at her words, at the earnestness of them.

"I think that's up to Katniss," I whisper. "Being a queen is a really big job. She might not be ready for that." There are truths hidden in my simplification, truths I'm terrified to explore myself. I know Katniss loves me, loves _us_. But that's a lot of baggage.

Cassie is undeterred, beaming at me with her new chipmunk teeth. "I'm gonna ask her." And though it's on the tip of my tongue to tell her not to, I swallow it. She's six. She'll have forgotten by morning anyway.

* * *

We fall through the apartment door, groping and shushing each other as we try to stifle giggles. It was an incredible evening; a concert, then dancing at a funky club. Watching her firm ass sway in those tight black jeans and high-heeled boots, I've been hard all evening long. We had a few drinks. Or a few more than a few, maybe. I could barely keep my hands off of her in the cab. She wasn't exactly discouraging me.

Rue looks up from where she's sitting on the couch, playing on her tablet, and smirks. "Have a nice evening you two?" Katniss flushes prettily, nodding before heading for my kitchen. She's so shy sometimes. Almost pure. One of many things I love about her.

I pay Rue for her babysitting services, and walk her home as quickly as I can, anxious to get back to Katniss, that minx, that sultry goddess. To get her into my bed, to have her gasping and writhing underneath me. When I slip back into my own apartment though, I'm surprised to find Katniss not in my bedroom, but in the kitchen, still. Staring at a paper in her hand. "Hey," I murmur, sliding my arms around her, and she sighs, nuzzling me like a contented cat. Then I glance down at the paper she's holding.

It's one of Cassie's drawings. A self portrait, with me holding one of her hands, and Katniss holding the other. Simplistic but obvious. We each have a giant crown perched on our head. And underneath a single word. ' _FAMLE'_. "Family," Katniss murmurs, her fingers tracing the crayon lines reverently.

"She adores you," I whisper, as Katniss leans back into my embrace.

"I love her too," she says softly. Then after a beat she sets the paper back on the table and spins to face me. "I love her daddy a whole lot too," she teases, the mischievous sparkle in her eyes not quite enough to disguise the hint of melancholy painting her features. But I can't dwell on it as she grabs my tie and tows me towards the bedroom.

Despite the crazed, lust-filled cab ride home, our lovemaking is gentle, tender. Transcendent. I pant confessions in her ear as I move inside her. I tell her that I love her, that I need her. That she completes me. Katniss is silent except for my name falling from her lips over and over.

And after, she lies in my arms. Her slim fingers trace designs over my heart, delicate as a moth's wing. "Does…" she starts, barely a whisper. "Does Cassie really think of me that way? As… as her _family_?" I squeeze her more tightly and nod against her hair. "I never wanted children," she says softly and my heart skips. "When I was young," she continues. "After my dad died, my mother…well she was never the same. I pretty much raised Prim."

Katniss has told me precious little about her family. I've met Prim, and the mutual adoration between the siblings is evident and heartwarming. And I know their parents are both dead. But neither Katniss nor her sister has mentioned anything else about them to me. "But Cassie…" She trails off again, and it's quiet but for the hammering of my heart. Finally, after what feels like an eternity where I'm perched on the edge of terror, she lifts her head. Her eyes, onyx and unfathomable in the dim, lock onto mine. "Being with Cassie. It makes me realize how much I want that. With her it's different. It's fulfilling. It's… It's fun."

"It isn't always fun," I whisper, reluctantly. "Sometimes it's hard as hell."

Her teeth flash white in the moonlight as she grins, and it sets me at ease. "I know it's hard," she says. "I've watched you for more than a year. But you handle everything she throws at you with a smile."

I shrug. "I love being her daddy." I say simply.

Katniss lays her head against my chest again. I don't want to push her, but I'm desperate to continue this conversation, now that she's brought it up. But it turns out she's not done yet either. "Do you…do you see me that way, too… as… as you know? As part of..."

"Yes," I tell her, nodding even as she makes a little noise of agreement. "You and Cassie. You're my world."

"Do you ever think about the future?"

I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. "All of the time, Katniss. I think about it. I dream about it." I run my hand down her bare back. "I fantasize about it," I murmur.

"What do you see?"

"I see you. By my side. Cooking dinner together and laughing. Making love every night."

She snorts. "That sounds like right now." She's right. It does. She deserves the whole truth. I take a deep breath and hope with all of my heart that I'm reading her signals right. That I won't scare her away.

"I see you in a long white dress, with flowers in your hair, making me the happiest man alive. I see a little house in the suburbs, with a swing set for Cassie in the yard. I…" I swallow hard, and reflexively my arms tighten around her. To prevent her from bolting, maybe. "I see you with your belly all round and swollen. Us, becoming a family of four." The silence is deafening. But then she sighs.

"A little boy," she murmurs. "A little boy who looks just like you." I roll her under me, smiling down at her as I kiss every inch of her lovely face.

"But with your eyes," I mumble between kisses.

I can hear her smile as she says, "Cassie would be a great big sister."

I'm a goner.

* * *

The credits are rolling on what must be our 400th viewing of _Tangled_. The pizza box lays empty, except for crusts and stray bits of mushroom. Cassie is sitting on Katniss's lap, wrapping her long black braid around her head like a crown. "Are you making me into a princess?" Katniss laughs at my daughter. Her little nose wrinkles.

"No, I'm the princess," she insists with all of the bluster a six-year-old can manage, and Katniss laughs more. Cassie pauses in her hairstyling, regarding Katniss thoughtfully. "I'm the princess," she repeats. "And my daddy is the King." My breath catches in my throat. "Will you be our Queen and live in our castle for always?" Katniss stares at Cassie for just a moment, shock and uncertainty on her face. Then she turns to me. And I open the little black velvet box I've been hiding in my pocket all evening.

A little laugh bubbles musically from her lips, even as the tears overflow. "Yes," she whispers to me, then turns back to Cassie. "Yes," she repeats more firmly. "Yes, I want to be with you and your daddy for always." Cassie wraps her arms around Katniss in what looks more like a chokehold than a hug, but Katniss only laughs more. And I pull both of them into my arms, kissing away Katniss's tears, stroking Cassie's soft curls.

Somehow I manage to slide the simple diamond solitaire onto Katniss's finger, and she twists her hand back and forth as she, Cassie, and I admire the way the light catches the stone. We sit quietly, the three of us wrapped in each other.

Cassie yawns, curled on up Katniss's shoulder, and I shift in my seat, intending to take her. But Katniss shakes her head. "No, I'll help her get ready for bed tonight." The two loves of my life disappear into the other room, and as I listen to Katniss's melodic voice crooning a lullaby I smile.

I never loved her mother. But my little girl will get to help write the fairytale of her parents love story. Starting now.


	4. Chapter 4

Fourth installment from the Cassie universe.

* * *

I almost think it can't be real. It feels like a dream; like any moment I'll wake up and find myself alone in my old apartment, lusting after my sexy neighbour down the hall.

Not standing at the altar of a tiny church, waiting to become her husband. Waiting to become a family.

Prim walks down the aisle first, lovely in deep blue, and winks at me as she moves to stand beside the minister. _Just wait_ , she mouths, and I grin. She's been tormenting me all week. I consider sticking my tongue out, but then another elegant blonde appears at the end of the aisle.

My little Cassie.

When Cassie heard that I wasn't allowed to see Katniss's dress before the wedding, she insisted her own be a secret too. Now, practically skipping along the pale grey runner to a chorus of _awwwws_ , she's a fairytale princess come to life. Her dress is a fluffy confection, gauzy layers of white silk that reach almost to the floor, cinched at the waist with a blue ribbon the same shade as Prim's dress. Her crazy curls have been tamed into an updo, and I laugh when I realize that, yes, she's even wearing a tiara.

"I'm a princess, Daddy!" she stage-whispers when she reaches the altar, to the chuckles of our friends. I crouch down to hug her.

"The most beautiful princess ever," I whisper. She giggles.

"Mommy's waiting for you." She's been referring to Katniss as mommy for a few weeks now, and every time she does I feel a warmth bloom in my chest.

Cassie has always been a sweet, easygoing child, but since Katniss came into our lives she's been so much happier. They'd built a strong relationship, just the two of them, even before the engagement. But in the six months since, Katniss has really become a mother to Cassie. Has filled a void in my little girl's heart.

Prim reaches out her hand to Cassie, who practically floats over to grasp it.

The music changes, and the assembled guests all stand in a hushed cacophony. My heart beats so loudly in my ears that I can barely hear the string quartet we hired playing _Here Comes the Sun_. It's such a fitting choice, such a damned fitting choice, because Katniss, my Katniss, is standing at the end of the aisle, and she's as radiant as the sun.

* * *

"She'll be fine, Peeta," Prim tells me for about the fiftieth time. And I know she will, but that doesn't make it any easier. I kiss Cassie one last time, then watch as my new sister-in-law leaves the hotel to take my little princess home.

Prim will be staying with Cassie at our new house, while Katniss and I honeymoon in Jamaica. They've been giggling like schoolgirls all week, full of plans for all of the fun they're going to have together. Crafts and movie marathons and probably far too much sugar.

I'm a man torn in two.

Half of me, more than half of me, _most of me_ , is so damned excited about a week alone with Katniss; the first time we will ever have been completely alone together in nearly two years of dating. I've spent a month envisioning all of the ways I'm going to make her scream my name.

But this trip will also be the first time I'll have ever spent more than a single night away from Cassie. Ever.

It's not that I don't trust Prim, I do. She's fabulous with Cassie, the perfect auntie, caring and fun but still responsible. And a hell of a lot more reliable than my mother.

Katniss's soft hand in mine pulls me out of my worrying. "Are you ready?" she asks, sultry silver eyes lidded and glowing for me. My eyes slide down her white silk clad body, the gorgeous dress I've been itching to take off of her all day. I've never been more ready in my life. And as she guides me through the throng of straggling guests, through the lobby of the hotel to our room for the night, all I can think about is her.

* * *

I'm drawn from slumber not by the alarm, nor by a seven-year-old wildcat jumping on my chest, but by a pair of soft lips drifting down my body. I muffle my groan into my arm, and her head pops up. She grins wickedly from between my legs. "Peeta," she says in a voice so sexy it makes my dick twitch. "You don't have to be quiet here." Then she takes me into the heat of her mouth.

Katniss is incredible, always so generous, always knows exactly what to do to drive me insane. And she doesn't hold back, her throat massaging my tip as she takes me deeper than she ever has before. Free to be loud, I am, moaning and calling her name over and over.

I come with a shout I'm sure everyone in the hotel hears.

She grins at me wickedly as I gasp and pant, still shuddering with aftershocks. But when I grab her hips and flip her under me, her smile slips. "We have a flight to catch," she whispers.

"Then I'll have to be quick," I smirk, shifting down her smooth, supple body. I part her folds with the tip of my tongue. She's already so wet for me. That it excites her to give me head is just one of many things I love about Katniss.

I don't play games with her, grabbing her ass and lifting her to me, her back arched so invitingly. Her hands wind in my hair as she wails. It's so fucking hot, listening to Katniss come undone; hearing her chant my name, completely uninhibited. By the time she comes, keening and begging, I'm hard again.

We barely make our flight.

* * *

The brochures didn't do this place justice. Our resort is incredible, right on a crystal blue beach and with every amenity imaginable. And our room, holy shit, our room is like something out of a magazine. A huge bed all in white, ensuite bath with a gorgeous jacuzzi tub, and private balcony overlooking the resort, with glimpses of the ocean.

And standing beside me is my wife. _My wife_. My gorgeous wife, gazing at me through her thick black lashes. The narrow ribbons holding up her soft orange sundress beg me to tug them.

So I do.

We make love languidly, lulled by the ocean sounds lilting through the balcony doors, an unhurried exploration.

With nowhere to be and no one needing us, we spend our first day-and-a-half in Jamaica naked, for the most part. Making love over and over, but also just lounging in bed or in the hot tub, ordering room service, talking without fear of interruption, without ever needing to censor ourselves.

We emerge from our cocoon on the evening of our second day. After a candlelit dinner, we walk the beach hand in hand, enjoying the last streaks of sunset across the cerulean sea. The whole way back to our room, Katniss talks excitedly about the resort amenities that we're planning to try out the next day.

In our room, I pull out my laptop and we Skype with Cassie and Prim, catching Cassie just before bedtime. She'd been happy and perky yesterday when I phoned home, but today she's subdued, and I'm concerned. Prim assures me that everything is fine, that Cassie is just tired from a busy day and from staying up a little late to wait for my call.

I can't help but worry. Katniss notices my distraction, and she soothes me, the way she always does.

* * *

Katniss has a full day planned for us; an off-resort trip filled with scuba diving and sightseeing, a romantic dinner and dancing at the chic nightclub just down the beach from our room.

And it's incredible. Katniss is like a mermaid, twisting sinuously in the water, all bronzed skin and itty-bitty bikini. I spend far more time watching her than looking at the fish. By the time the tour bus stops in a charming little village for our land excursion, I'm so hard I have to drag Katniss into the bathroom of a touristy coffee shop and fuck her bent over the sink, while she bites my arm to keep from yelling.

It only whets my appetite. My mind and dick are preoccupied by thoughts of Katniss all day long.

We stop in our room to shower and change before dinner, and I open my laptop to quickly check in at home. It's not our agreed-upon time to chat, but I've been worried and just need a little reassurance. But they don't answer. I send Prim a text, to try to arrange another time to talk with Cassie, a few minutes between dinner and the nightclub maybe.

Then Katniss emerges from the bathroom, wearing a short, clingy black dress that makes her tits look incredible, and sky-high heels. She looks like a fucking model, with legs that go on forever, and I decide that I can hold off on Skyping until tomorrow.

* * *

There were no messages from Prim last night, and nothing this morning either. She didn't return my texts, and hasn't logged into Skype, though I've been trying to reach her all morning.

Katniss tries to calm me down, reminding me that Prim has a full itinerary of exciting things planned for Cassie. She's certain Prim even mentioned this morning specifically as one where she was taking Cassie someplace special. But I am freaking out a little that I haven't been in contact with them for more than thirty-six hours, I'm aggravated and just so damned worried.

"Please, Peeta, let's go down and have breakfast at the buffet. We can try again after." It's half-past ten. She's been waiting two hours for me already. I know she's hungry and probably sick of sitting in the hotel room while I fiddle with my laptop and fret. But her calmness is just making me even more upset. She should be worried too, should be thinking about more than whether our plans for the day are going to be disrupted. When I tell her that, she frowns. "I trust Prim," she says softly. "Don't you?"

"It isn't that," I start.

"Well then trust if there was something wrong she would let us know," she says, too reasonably.

"You just don't understand," I snap. I'm met with silence. When I look up again, Katniss's lovely face is creased with annoyance, and maybe something else.

Something suspiciously like hurt.

"You think I don't understand?" Her voice is low and dangerous. She shakes her head, and I look away, turning my attention again to the computer.

By the time I give up on Skype and close my laptop, Katniss has already left. The suite is silent. I step out onto the balcony, look over the lush palm trees and white sand. To the azure water beyond.

This is easily the most beautiful place I've ever been. And instead of enjoying it with the most beautiful woman I've ever met, I'm holed up in my hotel room, alone. Like a tool.

I'm a man on a mission when I head down to the restaurant. I have some serious begging to do. But Katniss isn't there. She isn't at the beach, nor by the pool either. And my phone is silent.

I flag down one of the hotel staff to ask whether he's seen my wife. His grin is wide as he nods. "Ah, Mrs. Mellark, yes, she be at the transportation concourse."

I try to keep my expression pleasant as I thank the young man, then dart away. The transportation concourse. She must be planning to get on one of the tour buses. To do whatever today's planned excursion is, alone. My heart clenches, not only because she's leaving me behind, but because she's brave enough to pick herself up and carry on.

The large foyer is filled with people; an airport shuttle must have recently arrived. Couples, and a few families, cling to each other, eyes wide with awe, breathless anticipation hanging in the air. Exactly what Katniss and I must have looked like just four days ago. It's like a punch to the gut.

But I don't have time to analyze that feeling before a voice I know so well shrieks, "Daddy!"

I swear I'm hearing things, but when I turn I see Cassie's curls bobbing. She's grinning widely, held aloft in Katniss's arms. Prim trails slightly behind, towing two suitcases.

"Daddy!" Cassie yells again when Katniss sets her down. Then she's running across the lobby to me, and I catch her as she launches herself into my arms. "Surprise!" she shouts in my ear, her little body vibrating with excitement.

"How?" I start as my wife and sister-in-law stop in front of us. Prim's smile stretches across her face. Katniss, too, is smiling, though it doesn't reach her eyes.

"Mommy said we couldn't tell you, so you'd be s'prised." Cassie babbles happily in my arms, no trace of the quiet girl from two days ago left. The girl who was quiet, apparently, because she was trying so hard not to spill the beans of her big secret. The girl who was unreachable this morning because she was on a plane.

As the pieces fall into place in my head I can see the careful orchestration so typical of Katniss. The way she planned everything, from our itinerary to the times we agreed we'd chat online, with the goal of keeping Cassie joining us here a surprise. _For me_.

Katniss leans up to press a kiss to Cassie's flushed cheek. "Why don't you help the ladies get checked in," Katniss says, not quite meeting my eyes. "I'll meet up with all three of you for lunch. I have something I need to do first." She turns and walks away, black braid swaying.

I have never felt like a bigger asshole.

Cassie chatters the whole time that Prim checks in, telling me about the plane ride, the cool trees she saw from the shuttle window, the pool Prim promises has a waterslide. And while I'm so happy to see her, my heart aches for my Katniss, for my wife. I need to see her.

Prim looks sideways at me as we walk away from the desk, towards the family section of the resort. "You know," she starts. "Cassie and I had a big breakfast at the airport. Pancakes." Cassie nods in agreement, beaming. "It's too early for us to have lunch now. I think we'll change and hit the pool first."

Cassie whoops in glee, skipping ahead. "Bye Daddy," she calls over her shoulder.

Prim reaches for the suitcase I'm towing. "We'll meet you in a couple of hours, okay?" I can only nod.

I find Katniss in our suite, on the balcony, looking out over the resort. A gentle breeze makes her sundress dance around her legs, blows wisps of hair around her head. She's a cyclone and I'm sucked in. Though she certainly hears my approach, she doesn't look at me. I move to stand beside her, leaning on the railing, our elbows just brushing. "I'm sorry," I tell her. She only nods. "I - I can't believe you did this for me." On top of everything else, I'm in awe that she anticipated my fears and planned something so incredible.

"I didn't do it for you, or not only for you anyway. I didn't want to go a whole week without seeing her either." Katniss sighs. "I thought we would have the best of both worlds. A few days of honeymoon, just for us. Then finish with a few days of family vacation." She turns to me, and the pain in her quicksilver eyes takes my breath away. Katniss is always so stoic, but clearly I've really hurt her. "Don't you know how much I care about Cassie? How much I love her?" It's barely a whisper.

"I do," I say, and then cringe at the reminder that I said those words only five days ago and already I've fucked things up.

As if she's reading my mind, she continues. "Weren't you listening, during our vows? I promised myself not just to you, but to _us_ , to our family." During our wedding, Katniss had recited a special vow to Cassie and presented her with a medallion embossed with three rings. A symbol of her commitment to our family. And while my mother had dismissed it as some kitschy new-age thing, I knew it was important to Katniss. Only now am I truly seeing why. Only now do I really realize the level of her devotion.

"I know. I'm so sorry, Katniss." I reach for her hands, and she lets me hold them.

"I do understand how you felt."

"I know."

"You need to trust me, Peeta," she whispers. "We're a team now." She twists the new golden band that encircles my finger. The symbol of the promises we've made.

"We are." I lift our joined hands to my lips. "I do trust you." Her beautiful eyes search mine. "Katniss, I know I was an ass this morning. I fucked up. And I'm going to fuck up a lot I think. It was just me and Cassie for so long, it's going to take some time to get used to having someone else to depend on."

She nods. "I'll be here to remind you." It's all I need to hear, that in spite of all of the ways I have and will screw up, she'll be by my side. _Always_. I cup her face in my hands and then lean down to kiss her.

"I need you," I whisper. "Please." I need to hold her and kiss her and make love to her until I forget where she begins and I end.

I can feel her smile against my lips, and I smile too. "Cassie?" she murmurs.

"Prim took her to the pool," I say between gentle kisses.

"Then let's not waste any more time," she grins.

She lets me carry her inside and lay her across the bed. I peel away the layers between us with a breathless reverence, worshipping her gorgeous body with hands and mouth. Painting my penance into her trembling flesh.

When I finally slide into her I'm already right on the edge. I hold her gaze as I move inside her, telling her wordlessly how much I love her. How much I respect and adore her. My Katniss. I think back to the first time I saw her, nearly three years ago. That gorgeous, cosmopolitan woman in apartment 3G, so captivating and so completely out of my league. And now she's my wife.

I am so lucky.


	5. Chapter 5

The fifth installment from this universe, the last vignette written for everlarkbirthdaydrabbles. That said, I hope to continue writing scenes from this universe, as the mood strikes me.

* * *

Golden light spills over the windowsill, flows like honey along her bare back to pool in her ebony hair, tousled across white pillowcases. Watching the sunrise paint my gorgeous wife in fire is one of my favourite things. My pencil flies over the paper, trying to capture the peaceful incandescence of the moment. Knowing how fleeting it's likely to be.

It's mornings like these that I have to pinch myself. I can scarcely believe how lucky I am. My Katniss, the love of my life, stretched out in bed beside me. Our little girl asleep down the hall in her purple princess room. And maybe, just maybe… My eyes flit to the slim white box poised on the dresser.

"Peeta, how long have you been watching me?" Her voice is husky with sleep as she squints at me over her shoulder. I've been so caught up in daydreaming about possibilities that I hadn't noticed she'd woken up. But she's smiling.

"Not long, Love," I promise, tossing the sketchbook and leaning over to kiss her shoulder, the skin sleep-warm and smooth as silk. She groans softly as I lie down, pulling her back snugly against my chest.

"It's so early." It isn't, really, but it's Saturday, and we both usually sleep in a little on Saturday mornings. But she knows why I'm awake. She's the one who said we had to wait until Saturday to test. "Worse than the first day of school," she grumbles, but she's trying not to laugh, I can hear it in her voice.

We've been trying for a baby since our wedding four months ago. And Katniss, whose periods are so regular you can almost set your watch to them, is now eleven days late.

I wanted to test on day one. Katniss balked, unwilling to let either of us get our hopes up. But when she skipped her regular sushi lunch with the girls this week, I knew she had her suspicions too.

She rolls over, the sheets clutched over her chest. She's still, after nearly two years together, so shy. It's endearing. And though I'm as anxious as a kid on Christmas morning, I can't resist pinning her under me and kissing her, letting my hands wander, tickling and teasing that gorgeous expanse of bare olive skin under the covers.

Finally, she pushes me away with a smirk and wraps herself in the orange silk robe I bought her last Christmas. She snatches the box off her dresser and walks towards the ensuite. I move to follow her, but she snorts delicately. "I don't think so," she says. "There are some things I prefer to do without an audience."

I don't have time to get upset about being left behind before she comes back and sits on the bed beside me. The packaging is just barely visible through the open bathroom door, propped on the edge of the sink. The little stick with all of the answers. "Two minutes," she says, and there's the faintest tremor in her voice.

"Nervous, Love?"

"Yeah," she says softly. Then she laughs. "Hell yeah. Aren't you?"

It's a bit of a loaded question. Because while all of this is completely new for Katniss, it's not for me. Of course, it's different this time, in pretty much every way. Cassie - as much as I adore her and as much as I wouldn't change a thing - she was definitely unplanned, her mother a virtual stranger. But now, with Katniss, I want for that little stick to have a plus sign on it so badly that I'm shaking. I want a baby that's a bit of her and a bit of me, a sister or brother for Cassie. I'm not sure I've ever wanted anything more. I chuckle. "Maybe a little," I admit. She grips my hand tightly, and we wait.

Two minutes isn't very long, but it feels interminable when your dreams hang in the balance.

"I'm scared," she whispers, the first time I've ever heard Katniss admit to being afraid of anything. She's the one who chased a mouse out of our kitchen two weeks ago, she's the one who climbed the oak tree in our yard to fetch Cassie's kite. Fearless barely scratches the surface of how brave she is.

"Of what?" I whisper back. She doesn't meet my eyes, instead laying her head against my shoulder, playing with my fingers. Spinning my wedding band around and around.

"If it's negative," she breathes, "you'll be so disappointed."

"Maybe a little, but we'll keep trying," I try to reassure her. "We have plenty of time." She nods.

"But if it's positive…" she trails off. And though my heart is pounding in terror that she's changed her mind, I wait for her to finish. "What if I'm a bad mother?" It's so faint, I barely hear her.

I shift on the bed, cupping her cheek in my hand to tilt her face to mine. Her silver eyes are completely serious. "Katniss," I breathe, and disbelief is evident in my voice. "You are already a phenomenal mother!" And she is. She dotes on Cassie, volunteers as a leader for Cassie's Brownie troop, helps coach her T-ball team. She's patient and kind, firm and loving, and Cassie has completely thrived in her care. And even before that, Katniss practically raised her younger sister Prim after their father's death. I've never met anyone as nurturing as Katniss Everdeen Mellark.

"It's different, with Cassie. She was already a person when we met. I don't have any idea about babies. I've never even really been around babies. What if… what if I can't love it?"

I don't dare laugh because I can see she isn't joking. "Sweetheart." I kiss her downturned lips softly. "You have the biggest heart. You are so loving with Cassie, and you are going to love any babies we have so much. It's going to be fine. Trust me."

She wraps her arms around me, her lips just grazing my neck. "Okay," she whispers, and I feel the words against my skin and in my heart.

Those two minutes were up nearly ten minutes ago, but I continue to hold her, breathe with her. Wait until she's ready. Finally, after what feels like another eternity, she pulls away. "Okay," she murmurs again. Then she stands, and pulls me up too.

We walk to the bathroom together.

Despite her uncertainty minutes ago, the smile that graces her face when we see the pink plus sign on the pregnancy test is huge. "Oh my God, Peeta," she laughs as tears sparkle in the corners of her eyes.

"We're having a baby!" I pick her up and spin her around in the narrow confines of our bathroom, her laughter sounds like relief.

"I can't wait to tell Cassie," she says.

I'm anxious to tell her too. But it's still early, Cassie won't wake up for at least another hour yet. Right now, I'd like to celebrate with my pregnant wife. So I kiss my Katniss, my love, and carry her back to our bedroom.


	6. Chapter 6

The first five vignettes in this series were written for everlarkbirthdaydrabbles on tumblr, so the tone was generally fluffy (because birthdays are about happy, not angst!). Vignette 6 is a great deal less fluffy as we explore growing pains in the creation of this new family.

* * *

I wake up before the alarm, a thin grey dawn only starting to tease the horizon just beyond my bedroom window. Warm and snug in bed, I'd like to roll over and fall back asleep, wrapped in my gorgeous wife.

But when I reach for her, the other side of the bed is empty.

With a groan, I drag myself out of bed and head downstairs. I find her by the back door, lacing up her running shoes. Her glossy black hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail and she's wearing those spandex running pants that make her ass look so damned fine. But I refuse to be distracted by how hot Katniss is, because clearly she's sneaking out for a run.

And we've talked about this.

"Going somewhere?" I drawl, and I don't miss how her shoulders tense. She pauses before she turns to face me, arms crossed in front of her.

"I'm going for a run before work," she says evenly. "Like usual."

Katniss is stubborn and headstrong, and usually I love that about her. But right now it's pissing me off.

"I thought we talked about this," I start, calmly, but her jaw tightens.

"The midwife said it's fine, Peeta." Ah yes, the midwife, the other thing we argue incessantly about. Though I wasn't thrilled at first when Katniss decided she wanted to be followed by a midwife instead of an obstetrician, I let it go. I figured since she's the one who has to go to all of those appointments, it made sense for her to see someone she liked.

But then the morning sickness started. For weeks and weeks Katniss was sick, not just in the morning, but all day long. I fretted and fussed, suggested anything I'd ever heard of, but nothing helped. And the damned midwife only said not to worry, it was normal and she'd feel better soon, probably by the end of the first trimester. 'Eat small meals and keep active', like that was going to solve anything!

I begged Katniss to get a second opinion. She refused, saying she trusted the midwife. We argued, over and over. Every time she was sick I'd beg again. Each time she'd get more and more upset.

Katniss is four months pregnant now, and while she doesn't throw up every day anymore, she still has no appetite. She's lost so much weight that I'm really frightened. And yet she refuses to slow down.

The running is my breaking point. She asked me to understand that it helps her, keeps her mind clear and her stress low. I keep telling her water aerobics or Pilates would do the same thing without being so risky for her and our baby. But the damned midwife told us running was safe right into her third trimester, as long as Katniss listens to her body and doesn't push herself.

I call bullshit on that. And besides, she's obviously not listening to her body. If she were, she'd take things a little easier.

"She certainly didn't say you _had_ to run, Katniss. I don't understand why you won't just switch to something safer."

"Running is perfectly safe," she hisses.

"Look at you," I snap, losing the battle against my temper. "You're so weak a good stiff wind could blow you away! I freak out every time you leave, thinking you're going to pass out on the trail!" The early morning light skims over her, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes, the hollowness of her cheeks. She's starving to death, and all she cares about is going for a jog? "Can't you just take up yoga or something?"

"Here we go again." she mutters. I want to retort that if she'd just listen, we wouldn't keep having this argument, but she continues before I can say it. "Why don't you tell me one more time how Glimmer did yoga all through her pregnancy." She practically spits my ex's name, and I stiffen.

"I can't believe you're bringing her into this!"

"Me?" Katniss laughs, an unpleasant little bark. "You're the one who keeps bringing her up, Peeta. Every damned day. _Glimmer did yoga instead of running, Katniss. Glimmer was never sick like you are, Katniss. Glimmer managed to choke down those stupid prenatal vitamins just fine, Katniss_ ," she mocks. "Perfect Glimmer who did everything right. I can't even brush my teeth without hearing about how much better at it Glimmer was."

"Glimmer's not even here," I sputter, outraged.

"She might as well be. It's bad enough that I have to worry all the time that she's going to come back and take my daughter from me. But having to share this with her too?" she says, waving her hand in front of her practically concave belly. "It really sucks, Peeta."

"I think you're imagining things," I grumble. I'm trying to be supportive, I know she has a ton of pregnancy hormones making her feel crazy. But this is ridiculous.

"Of course you do," she sighs. Then she turns, and walks out the back door. After a few moments, I head upstairs to start my own day, alone.

When I come back downstairs after my shower, Katniss is in the kitchen, making french toast for Cassie, who sits at the table, already dressed for school, legs swinging and nose buried in a book. Katniss is still in her running clothes, and she looks decidedly green around the gills. Clearly, the run has left her feeling even worse. It's on the tip of my tongue to tell her I told you so, but I bite it back, if only because Cassie is here.

I think Katniss hears my thoughts anyway, because she scowls at me as she replaces Cassie's book with a plate. She kisses our daughter and wishes her a good day, then slides past me without a word. I don't miss the misery in her expression. And I huff in frustration.

At least there's coffee ready.

Cassie's chatter as I drive her and myself to school distracts me from my mood, and my fourth grade class keeps me too busy to ruminate. But when I sink into the sofa in the staff lounge at lunchtime, it all rushes back. My annoyance, though, is tempered with a little bit of regret. I probably have been mentioning Glimmer a lot lately. After all, everything I know about pregnancy comes from our time together. It never occurred to me that Katniss might be bothered by that. That she might feel threatened by Glimmer in any way. I thought I'd been clear about my feelings about my ex, my ambivalence when we were together, my animosity since she left.

So I promise myself that I won't say her name again, that I won't compare them anymore.

o-o-o

I've been mostly successful in not bringing up Glimmer over the past week or so. And Katniss has only been out running twice, though that's less a concession to my opinion and more a factor of her being too busy to run. She's still sick, still not eating, still exhausted. And on top of that, she's been working long hours at the office, preparing for a fundraising gala her company is hosting. One she has to attend.

Katniss is the director of social media and marketing for a not-for-profit firm that specializes in educational software, and she's extremely good at her job. But this gala is stressing her out. She'll be expected to make a speech to the investors and donors, and she hates making speeches. She's not comfortable working a crowd either. The pregnancy, the extra work, the stress, I know she's barely holding things together.

And we're hardly communicating at all.

I was looking forward to the gala when she brought it up months ago. An evening out together, a nice meal, maybe a few slow dances. Now I'm not so sure she even wants me there.

o-o-o

I wake up to find Katniss still curled up in bed beside me, the first time in a long time that's happened. When I carefully climb out of bed, Katniss grumbles no and rolls over, falling back asleep right away, also something that seldom happens. The gala is today; she may well be pissed when she realizes she's wasted part of the day sleeping, but I haven't the heart to wake her. She's so damned worn down. And asleep, she doesn't scowl at me. So I slip out of our room as quietly as I'm able.

Cassie and I have the kitchen all to ourselves. "Do you want to bake some cookies?" I ask her.

Her little face lights up, but then she turns pensive. "Can we make some cheese buns for mommy instead? They're her favourite." My heart swells with pride, she's such a kind-hearted kid. I'm so lucky.

"Why not both?" I smile.

I've been baking with Cassie since she was old enough to stand on a chair, and we both love it. I'm thrilled by the knowledge that in the not-too-distant future, there'll be a second chair pulled up to the counter.

Cassie keeps up a constant commentary while we measure and mix, and before too long the counter fills with baked goods. She decides that we should bring mommy breakfast in bed, and I chuckle, helping her load up a tray. When I set my own coffee cup on the tray beside Katniss's tea, Cassie stops me. "Coffee makes mommy's tummy sick," she says.

"It's not mommy's coffee, silly. It's daddy's." Katniss doesn't drink coffee, though she's almost always the one to brew it in the mornings, since she's an early riser.

"But when she smells it she gets all barfy." Cassie's nose wrinkles, then she shrugs and skips ahead of me.

Huh. Katniss has never mentioned that the smell of coffee upsets her. Cassie is probably confused.

I leave my cup on the counter anyway.

Katniss is already awake, I can tell, but she pretends to be asleep to let Cassie wake her, then she grins and covers our daughter's giggling face with kisses. My heart soars, seeing my girls curl up together in the bed, propped against the headboard. I sit beside them, basking in their happiness. Katniss seems a little better today, still tired and almost fragile-looking, but smiling as she sips her tea, and even managing to eat half a cheese bun while Cassie gives her a play by play recounting of their creation. And for one precious morning, my life is perfect again.

It doesn't last. Once Cassie bores of breakfast in bed and runs off to play, Katniss and I lapse into silence. Without Cassie as a buffer, it feels like we have nothing to say to each other. The easy, comfortable banter that's been a hallmark of our relationship completely fails us.

It's crushing.

We spend the day like ships passing in the night. Now and again, I catch sight of her tapping furiously on her phone, attending to one last minute detail or another, and we take turns playing with Cassie, but our interactions with each other are nearly non-existent. I can't help feeling angry, and hurt. But mostly, I'm afraid. Back when my father was alive, he and my mother tiptoed around each other this way. I've never wanted a marriage like that.

Finally, around five I seek Katniss out, knowing we'll have to leave in an hour or so. Hoping we might call a truce, at least for the night.

I find her standing in front of the full-length mirror on our bedroom closet door, her back to me, wearing the orange silk robe I gave her last Christmas and a pair of panties, but nothing else. The robe hangs open in front, framing the slight swell of her belly, where our baby rests. I've been so focussed on our fights and her weight loss that I hadn't noticed until now that she's starting to show.

She's utterly magnificent.

While I stare unblinking with my heart in my throat, she brings her hands up to cup her belly, watching herself intently as she does. A soft smile caresses her lips, she looks serene, content in a way I haven't seen in months. With her heavier breasts and her long ebony hair floating around her face like a corona, she's a madonna, an exquisite portrait of impending motherhood, a work of art. A masterpiece. I am enraptured.

She twists slightly, and that's when she catches sight of me in the mirror. Her smile falls and her eyes narrow as she wraps the robe tightly around herself, a shield, another brick in the wall between us. My heart sinks. "Please don't hide from me," I whisper, taking a tentative step into the room. She turns to face me, pulling the robe even tighter, practically to her throat. Her face is a carefully constructed mask of indifference, but she won't meet my eyes. "Katniss?" I take another step, and reach for her; she backs away. "Please?"

"Why?" she says, shrugging, but the way her lips tug downward tells me she's struggling to stay in control. "You've already made it perfectly clear that you find me disgusting."

I gasp. She could have told me she was an alien from Jupiter and I'd be less shocked than I am right this moment. "What? I would never say anything like that!" Try as I might to stay calm, I can feel myself getting defensive.

She scoffs. "Sure. So 'hollow cheeks' and 'collarbones sharp enough to cut glass', those are supposed to be compliments? The nicest thing you've said to me in a month is that I look awful!" Her voice breaks, and I feel like I've been punched in the gut. Not just because of her misery. But because I know she's right. I know I've said each of those things, though I never meant them as anything more than an expression of how worried I am about her. How fucking terrified I am of losing her.

"No," I grit out around the lump in my throat. "I never meant that. You're beautiful, Katniss. So beautiful." She's shaking her head. I take another step towards her, and she bolts for our ensuite, slamming the door, the little privacy lock slipping in censure.

Everything feels like it's falling apart, and I'm powerless to fix it. We've only been married eight months, how can it have gone so wrong already? I stand right outside the bathroom door, calling her name, begging her to let me in. She says nothing. Only when I fall silent do I hear a faint sniffle. She's crying. Katniss is crying alone, locked in our bathroom, when I'm right here. When I'm desperate to hold her and comfort her.

She's crying because of me.

My head thunks against the door as I struggle to stay in control, anger and anguish battling. "I'm sorry," I tell the doorframe, words I should have said to Katniss a week ago. "I never meant to hurt you." Faint sobs punctuate the quiet. The bathroom is tiny, I know she's right on the other side of this door. Her little sounds are so soft, she must be trying to muffle her tears, to hide even that from me.

I have never in my life felt so helpless.

"Please, Love," I plead, and even as I say the pet name I recognize the foreignness of it in my mouth. How long has it been since I've called her that? How long has it been since we've made love? I'm horrified by the realization that all of my worrying and complaining has reduced our relationship to nothing more than that of baby-grower and overseer. That I've been treating Katniss like an employee rather than my life partner. My wife. "You are the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen," I tell her honestly. "I've always thought so, but now you're even more beautiful." It's true; I've never found her more desirable than I do now, knowing our child is growing within her. My attraction to her is almost a primal thing.

From within the bathroom a single muffled word floats. _Failure_. For a heartbreaking moment, I think she's describing our marriage. But listening more closely, I can hear she's calling herself a failure. I feel sick. "No," I mutter, willing her to hear me. "No…". There's no response.

I sink to my knees, my face pressed against the door jamb, as close as I can get to her with one-and-a-half inches of wooden barrier between us. "I don't know what I'm doing, Katniss. This is all new to me too." A little huff from mere inches away tells me she's listening to me, and that's something at least. "I'm serious. You know I never had a real relationship before you." I dated only casually in high school and college, and Glimmer, though we have a child together, was barely even a friend. Katniss is the first and only person I've ever wanted to spend forever with.

The pleading in my voice escalates with my desperation. "Yes, I've been through a pregnancy," I say, careful to avoid using _that_ name. "But it's completely different now. Because I love you, Katniss. And seeing you sick and hurting scares me to death. I… I can't lose you."

The silence stretches between us, an aching eternity. "Please don't shut me out," I whisper again, and I'm perilously close to crying myself.

Downstairs, the doorbell chimes. "Fuck," I gasp. It'll be Prim, she's going to watch Cassie tonight while Katniss and I go to the gala. I can't ignore her. I blow out a shuddering breath. "I have to let Prim in," I say. "I love you. Please don't ever doubt that. I know I haven't been a very good husband lately, but I've never stopped loving you, not for one second." I wait another few beats, hoping she'll say something. Praying she'll open the door. But she stays silent. And I reluctantly walk away.

Cassie has already let Prim into the house, and while I don't like her doing that, I'm too heartsick to chide her. She dances around her aunt, wearing fairy wings and carrying a couple of library books. Prim is laughing, but when she sees me her expression softens into sympathy. She hugs me hello. "Still no better?" she murmurs against my shoulder. Clearly she knows at least some of what's going on between Katniss and me.

Part of me is pissed, because I barely know what's going on myself. But most of me is glad that Katniss hasn't been completely alone. I shake my head. "I don't know what to do," I confess in a desperate whisper. "I'm screwing everything up. Everything I say makes it worse." Maybe it's unfair to dump all of this on poor Prim, but I'm lost.

"Just be patient with her," Prim advises, patting my shoulder as we follow Cassie towards the kitchen. "She likes to be in control of everything, but this pregnancy is something she can't control and I think it scares her."

I spend a couple more minutes with Cassie and Prim before heading back to our bedroom. The ensuite door is still closed, but I can hear the shower running. So I grab my things and get ready in the guest bedroom.

o-o-o

I'm waiting in the living room, alternating between pacing and sitting on the couch, fidgeting and running my hands through my hair repeatedly. It's twenty after six, and Katniss still hasn't come downstairs. I'm starting to think that she's not going to. Cassie and Prim are sitting by the coffee table, playing jenga, and Prim keeps shooting pitying glances at me.

I'm a wreck, sick and scared.

I've just decided to go back upstairs to check on Katniss when Cassie squeals. "You look like a princess, Mommy!"

Katniss, my Katniss, is standing in the doorway, drop-dead gorgeous in a deep blue gown that plunges in the front, highlighting those perfect breasts. I'm on my feet and moving towards her before I even realize it, and not just because my mother ingrained it in me to stand in the presence of a lady. No, I'm drawn to her magnetically, impossible to resist.

Her kohl-rimmed eyes are wary as I stop in front of her, my lips forming silent apologies I can't give voice to. I want to grab her, crush her tightly to me, never let her go. Instead, I reach a trembling hand out to finger a lock of hair that tumbles down to frame her beautiful face. For several long moments, we simply stare at each other, the very air between us charged. Then my eyes slip downward, to her cleavage. "Holy shit," I breathe.

"Peeta," she chides softly, her eyes flitting to where Cassie sits, thankfully oblivious to my language. But a hint of a smile teases her perfect peach lips. And it feels so right, so normal, that I relax, if just a bit.

"Sorry," I murmur, though I'm not, or not about my language anyway. Right now, I couldn't care less about setting a good example. I don't care about decorum, or the gala, or anything other than hauling my wife up those stairs, peeling her out of that dress and worshipping her gorgeous body. Or just holding her, skin to skin, feeling her heart beat in time with my own. "You look incredible, Love," I tell her.

She smiles, tentative but real, and reaches up to straighten my tie, the one I chose tonight because I know it's her favourite, a tiny, pathetic olive branch. Her fingers brush against my jaw in a delicate caress and my eyes slip closed. I lean into her hand, swallowing hard. "Are we okay, Katniss?" I whisper.

"We're going to be," she says softly.

o-o-o

We don't talk on the drive to the hotel, Katniss is lost in her thoughts and I'm too focussed on getting us there on time. But the silence doesn't feel as oppressive as it did earlier, and I'm heartened at least a little by that. Once we arrive, she's whisked away, leaving me to chat with a few of her coworkers, always with an eye on my wife as she answers questions and works the crowd. She's a dynamo, a firebrand, fierce and powerful. It's hard to reconcile this Katniss, this woman so poised and polished and vibrant, with the exhausted, fragile one I've been watching like a hawk for weeks. In spite of how sick she's been at home, none of her coworkers even know yet about the pregnancy. She's been that good at keeping her game face in place.

The realization hits me with shocking clarity: I've seen her as frail and weak only because she's allowed it. She's let me see her as vulnerable because she trusts me. And I've thrown that in her face.

I have to figure this out. I have to figure out how to support her without trying to fix her. How to balance my tendency to worry with her need for control. How to be the man she deserves.

She glances over at me, as if she can feel the weight of my stare. I can't even blink. She's stunning. Her dress gathers just under her breasts, then falls in a sleek line that disguises the tiny baby bump I caught sight of earlier. I want to touch her so badly I can taste it.

o-o-o

Three hundred pairs of eyes watch her with rapt attention, the hush so profound that even the rustle of tablecloths seems thunderous. Though she's the picture of composed professionalism, she's struggling. I can see it from my seat in the hotel ballroom, can hear the slight waver in her voice as she tries to read the carefully scripted speech in front of her. My heart aches for her; she's so nervous, so overwhelmed. Normally, I'd have helped her rehearse her speech, but with how little we've been interacting lately, it just didn't happen. She didn't ask, and I didn't even think to offer. I wish I could be there beside her now though, holding her hand, reminding her that she's brilliant and capable. Suddenly, she lifts her eyes from the paper and finds me in the crowd. I mouth ' you can do this ', and she smiles, just a bit. As I watch, she takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving mine, then begins to speak again, more confidently, and with more authority. She gives the rest of her speech - about the value of collaborative education, of working and learning together - directly to me, though I'm not sure anyone else notices. I feel not only her words, but the promise behind them. Not for the company. For us.

And when she concludes her presentation, I'm the one clapping loudest. I'm so proud of her.

Katniss is forced into a few conversations as she leaves the podium; I never take my eyes off her. When she finally makes her way over to our table, I jump to my feet and she practically launches herself into my arms. "You were so good," I murmur into her hair, cradling her against my body, humbled and grateful that she's seeking me out this way.

"Thank you for being here," she breathes, and I laugh softly.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be than by your side."

I eat my dinner left-handed for the simple pleasure of clutching her hand under the table all meal long. Katniss barely picks at her food, but for once I don't call attention to it, don't say anything about her appetite at all. I can feel her start to relax, feel her letting down her guard more and more as each opportunity to berate her for things beyond her control passes. And for the first time in weeks, we chat. Not the deep stuff - that talk will have to wait for another time. Instead, it's the easy, conflict-free conversation that I have missed so keenly. Reconnecting.

Dessert is chocolate cake, and I want to cry in relief when Katniss digs into hers with gusto. Instead, I slide my own plate her way and wink. And though she stiffens at first, after a few beats her shoulders drop and she grins. "Thank you," she says.

When the coffee service comes around I wave them off. Katniss glances as me in confusion, forkful of frosting paused just inches from her lips. "The smell of it makes you sick, doesn't it?" She frowns, and I can see the battle in her eyes, the fear of getting sucked into yet another fight. Finally she nods. "I'm sorry," I tell her honestly. "I wish I'd realized sooner." I don't bother telling her that our seven-year-old is the one who clued me in.

"You shouldn't have to give up things you enjoy just because I'm pregnant." She sets her fork down and frowns at her plate.

I reach across to tip her chin up, vulnerability flickers in those quicksilver eyes. " We're pregnant, Katniss," I tell her. "We're in this together." She looks like she wants to argue, or maybe shut down again, and I can't let that happen.

Across the room, the band is just starting up. I want to continue reconnecting, just us, no talk of pregnancies or past lovers. So I stand and tug her out of her seat. "Come dance with me."

I couldn't even tell you what song is playing, all I care about is having Katniss in my arms, her small, warm body pressed against my own. We sway together, breathe together. She lays her head against my chest, I stroke her hair, careful not to disrupt the fancy twist. My lips find her forehead, smooth in contentment. I haven't felt this good in awhile.

We dance two, three songs, talking a little and laughing. She looks up at me with those stunning silver eyes shining. My hands flex against her waist of their own accord, my heart speeding up. "I want to kiss you," I murmur. She smiles.

"So why don't you?"

"I'm afraid if I start I won't be able to stop." It's true, I'm already half hard just holding her and looking into her eyes. We've stopped moving entirely, standing still and breathless, oblivious to the people all around. But her expression falls.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, pressing her face into my collar, and I mentally kick myself for somehow wrecking the mood again. She stays in my arms though, and after another moment I begin to rock us again in a stilted parody of dancing. She sighs. "I shouldn't have shut you out earlier," she says, face still nestled in my shirt. My arms tighten.

"I wish you hadn't," I admit. "But I understand why you did." This isn't how I want to have this conversation, in whispers, surrounded by strangers. She seems to understand that, because we fall silent.

We dance a little longer, but the contentment is gone, the air thick with things unsaid. Then Katniss gets pulled away, pulled back into contract discussions and more work.

I watch her for a while, my eyes drawn like a moth to her flame, and sigh. I'm heartened that we're not irretrievably broken. But this isn't something we can just gloss over. We need to talk it out, the sooner the better so it can't fester any further.

It's that thought that propels me back to her side. She's speaking with her boss, a jovial older man whose name always escapes me. He smiles as I approach, and Katniss turns to look at me over her shoulder. Her exhaustion is clear.

Sidling up to them, I shake the boss's hand before sliding an arm around Katniss's shoulders. I can feel her subtly slump against me. "It's almost ten," I tell Katniss, loudly enough for her companion to hear. "What time is the sitter expecting us?" Prim is watching Cassie and she wouldn't care if we stayed out all night. But I want to give Katniss an out, if she's as tired as I think she is.

"Oh, I didn't realize it was so late" she says, and I have to suppress a snort. She's a terrible liar; I can hear in her voice that she's been watching the clock for a while. "Sorry, Plutarch," she says, nodding at her boss. That's why I can never remember his name, it's such a strange one. "We're going to have to leave."

Plutarch nods, and congratulates Katniss on a job well done before wandering away to speak with someone else. She turns to press her face against my chest. "Thank you," she murmurs.

"Anytime, Love." I kiss her temple, happy to just have her in my arms again. "Shall we?"

We gather our things and walk to the car hand in hand. She lets me cling to her fingers even as we pull away, and the feeling of her soft, cool skin is so damned good.

The drive home is as quiet as the drive to the gala had been. I expect Katniss to fall asleep now that the stress of the gala is over, but she doesn't, simply staring out the window and humming to herself.

Our house is silent when we get home. It's doubtful that Prim is asleep so early, but she's made herself scarce, knowing, I think, that Katniss and I desperately need this time to reconnect uninterrupted. I swear she's our biggest cheerleader.

I lead Katniss to our room, intent on talking, on smoothing out this thing between us. But when she spins and asks me to unzip her dress, all I can concentrate on are the miles of smooth olive skin bared inch by inch as the fabric separates beneath each metal tooth. It calls out for my lips, and I don't resist. Katniss stiffens as I drag my tongue down each vertebral swell, but after a few moments she relaxes and sighs.

When I finally get that zipper completely opened, I slide her dress off her shoulders, and help her step out of it. And she lets me. "You are so beautiful," I whisper into the soft skin at the nape of her neck, wrapping my arms around her, holding her against me. "I need you," I murmur, my cock already hard. I want to show her how much I adore and cherish her.

But Katniss has other ideas. She almost growls at the feeling of my lips on her skin, my cock pressing into the small of her back. Then she whirls around. I catch only a glimpse of the lacy white bra holding her perfect tits aloft before she presses her body tightly to mine and kisses me hard.

She's a wildling in my arms, biting my lip, pulling my hair, controlling me completely. And I surrender, because it feels so damned good to kiss her again, to really kiss her. It's been so long since we've made love. Far too long.

She walks us backward so quickly that the edge of the mattress hitting my knees startles me, and I fall onto the bed, flat on my back. She crawls over me, a goddess, smooth skin glowing in the lamp light. I reach for her, needing to feel the silk of her under my fingers, but she grabs my wrists, pushing my hands away and leaning forward to pin my arms beside my head. "No," she says, an almost feral expression on her gorgeous face.

"Katniss?" I could free my arms easily, she's not very big. But I don't. She has an agenda, and I'm not going to interfere with it.

"No," she repeats, but even as she says it, she's working on my belt one-handed, her other hand holding my arm down. "You don't get to touch me." I have one arm free, but I leave it passively above my head. My breath is already coming in short pants just from the novelty of the situation. From seeing this new and unexpected side of my wife.

She's barely got my dress slacks open before her soft, cool fingers grip me firmly. I arch up into her hand, a groan ripped from my chest. She pumps me aggressively, with none of the finesse she usually employs. It's raw and real and I'm already twitching in her hand when she shifts her body upwards, slides her panties to the side, and sinks onto me.

I howl.

Katniss starts rocking above me right away, pelvis angled to take me deeper with every revolution of her hips, and it feels so fucking good I'm certain I'm going crazy. But when I open my lust-heavy eyes to gaze at her, there's a little line between her brows. And I can tell right away that she's in a bit of discomfort, maybe from going too fast, from starting before she was really ready.

Shame steals through me, and I lift my arms, to slow her, to hold her, to touch and stroke her, to make her feel good. But she shoves my hands away again. "Keep them there," she growls, indicating the spot above my head with her chin, without even breaking stride. "You don't get to touch," she repeats, jaw tight. "You just take it."

"Katniss?" I rasp, but she shakes her head.

"No talking."

She rides me hard, anger and sadness written across her features, fists twisted in my shirt, breasts bouncing within their lace confines. She feels incredible, hot and wet and gripping me like a vise, but I can't relax into the sensation. Not with the torment I see in her silver eyes.

In all the time I've known her, Katniss has always struggled to articulate her emotions in words. But she's telling me now with her body. Showing me her hurt, her anger. Her loneliness. I can't look away, can't even blink as she tells me in her own way how hard the past few weeks have been for her.

And I take it all.

She comes like a lightning bolt, flash-frozen above me, mouth wide in a silent scream even as she pulses around me. Then with a little sob, she falls forward onto my chest.

I wrap my arms tightly around her and she doesn't complain, letting me hold her as hot tears soak through my shirt. And though I'm still hard and throbbing, buried inside her, all I can think about is loving her, gently, reverently. I press kisses to the top of her hair, the fancy updo starting to fall down, and wait. My balls ache and I'm uncomfortable, completely dressed with the elastic waist of my briefs digging painfully into my sac. But I'll wait as long as she needs.

When her breathing starts to calm, I roll us both carefully onto our sides, slipping out of her as I do. That seems to startle her. "You didn't-" she starts, but I stop her words with a kiss, gentle, but hinting at the fire still burning underneath.

"We're not done yet, Love," I tell her. "But can we talk first?" She nods, averting those stunning eyes. I can feel her defences coming back up. I can't let her shut me out anymore. "Katniss," I whisper. "Please look at me."

She lifts her silver eyes to mine, twin moons in the low lamp light. I kiss the corner of each eye, the tip of her nose, her cheekbones - not sharp or hollow, but beautiful , sculpted by angels. I feel the pull of shame in my gut again. "I'm sorry," I whisper, and her eyes slam shut. I sigh, but keep pressing light kisses across her face, breathing her in. Tracing patterns into the soft skin of her arms. Relishing the feel of her in my arms.

"You blame me," she finally says, and it shocks me, though it shouldn't. Isn't that what she was trying to tell me before? That she feels like I'm blaming her for everything?

"No," I nearly choke on the word. "I promise you, I don't."

"I'm trying," she sniffs, eyes still tightly closed, body held stiff. "I just…" she trails off.

"You are amazing. You are the strongest person I've ever met, and I'm so fucking awestruck watching you balance everything." It's the truth, but she shakes her head.

"It's never good enough." After a long pause where I can't even breathe, she amends, "I'm not good enough."

It hurts to hear. I know, though, that she doesn't need platitudes. She needs an explanation. "That's not true, and it kills me that I've made you feel that way. I'm scared, Katniss." I pause, taking a deep breath and tugging at the tie still mostly knotted around my throat. Her lips twitch, and she reaches for me, pulling the grey silk free, then slipping a few buttons open at my collar. "I'm terrified of losing you, or of something going really wrong. It wasn't like this with Glimmer." Katniss frowns, like my ex's name is a foul smell, which I guess in a way it is, for her. "Not because she did anything differently. Because I'm different. We're different."

I huff out a breath, for being a generally well-spoken man, I am struggling hard tonight. "I love Cassie with all of my heart. But when Glim was pregnant with her, I wasn't really part of it. I was there, and I cared in the abstract at least, but it was just something going on in my life, like school or my mother. Important, yeah, but it didn't take up much of my thoughts. But with you, fuck, this is everything! And it's not that I want to compare you to Glimmer, it's just that I'm grasping at anything to make things better for you. It guts me to see you suffer, and I'm so fucking afraid that something bad is going to happen to you or our baby."

"We're both fine, Peeta, you've spoken to the midwife, you know that. I'm doing everything she says."

I drop my face to her shoulder. "I know," I mumble. "But it doesn't reassure me when her advice doesn't match up with what I'm seeing. I just feel so damned helpless."

"You think I don't?" I glance up at her tone; there's a hint of amusement on her face. "Hell, you know everything about every aspect of pregnancy, and I'm completely lost about what's happening even though it's my own body."

I place a soft kiss on her perfect peach lips. "I really am sorry. I didn't realize I was being so insufferable."

"I'm probably a little over sensitive," she admits.

"I love you." Her smile widens at my declaration, and she reaches up to stroke my cheek. "And I miss you."

"I'm right here," she whispers.

"I want you so much." Despite the gravity of our talk, I'm still hard and trying not to squirm like a little kid.

But uncertainty paints her gorgeous features. "I… I wasn't sure. I thought maybe…" I know what she means, what she said earlier, about thinking I wasn't attracted to her anymore.

"So much, Katniss," I groan cupping her face. "Every damned day, every minute of every day." This time, when she leans in to kiss me, it's slow and sensual.

For a while, we just kiss. I take my time reacquainting myself with the buttery softness of her lips, the slickness of her teeth, the little ridges on the roof of her mouth that make her shudder when I stroke them firmly with my tongue. We kiss and kiss and kiss, and when she pulls back to suck in a deep gasp of air, I move lower, pressing kisses along her jaw, her delicate chin, licking a line down her elegant throat.

I kiss every inch of her collarbones reverently, hoping she can feel the apology. Dip my tongue into that sweet hollow between them, then continue lower. Katniss winds her fingers through my hair, tugging gently, the affection in that little action makes me smile against her skin.

The valley between her breasts beckons and I kiss a path between the heavy mounds, weighing first one, and then the other in my hands. They're each a perfect handful now, and I can't wait any longer to taste them.

I don't even bother to undo her bra, simply pushing one cup aside to free that gorgeous peak. As soon as my lips close over her luscious nipple, she shudders. I try to be gentle, but Katniss firms her grip on my head, pulling me in closer. "More," she groans, and I obey, sucking roughly, pulling the bud with my teeth. She moans softly, her back bowing, her hands reaching to tug me on top of her. But I hold my position. I'm relentless. I've been dreaming about these tits for weeks, and I'm not ready to relinquish them just yet.

She squirms and moans as I continue my appreciation of her breasts, her breath coming faster and faster, little mewling cries like music in the hush of our bedroom.

"Peeta, please," she whimpers.

"Patience," I chide. "Let me love you." Katniss goes very still. I lift my head, she's watching me with silver eyes shimmering.

"Always," she whispers.

I love this woman. This gorgeous, amazing woman. How she came to settle for the likes of me I'll never understand, but I'm so damned grateful she did. I crawl back up to kiss her again, and her small, sure hands work on the buttons of my shirt while I do.

She wrestles my shirt off my shoulders, I peel away her sexy bra, then press our naked upper bodies together, hot skin to hot skin. She sighs against my throat, that soft, satisfied sound that makes my heart swell.

I kiss a path down her body, forcing myself to go slowly, making sure to appreciate every inch. When I reach the soft swell of her abdomen, I spend several long moments just staring. Katniss lifts her head off the pillow to look down at me with confusion, but I shake my head, reaching a gentle hand to stroke the taut skin reverently. I can't put into words how seeing the evidence of our baby growing inside her affects me, how it chokes me up, terrifies me and at the same time makes me feel like the greatest man on earth. I kneel over her, cupping her belly and kissing the tiny bump, making silent promises both to Katniss and to our unborn child.

Then I continue my journey, nipping at the white silk panties Katniss is still wearing. She stiffens, guessing my intention. "Peeta," she breathes. "You don't have to-"

"I want to," I interrupt her. "Please." I press the word into the whisper-thin bit of fabric, and she moans. I love eating Katniss out, especially after she's already come, when she's drenched with the evidence of her response to me. I strip away those sodden panties and spread her wide before me.

She whimpers, bits of nonsense and praise whispered into the night as I tease her with my tongue. Only when her thighs clamp around my ears do I finally slide two fingers into her waiting heat, curling them up. She comes with the kind of uninhibited shout that's far too rare in a house with kids and sisters both, but I'm not going to chide her. Not when the sound of her pleasure is my favourite song.

I crawl back up to lie beside her, and can't help grinning. Flat on her back, arms flung over her head, eyes closed, she's a sweaty, dishevelled mess. She's glorious. I snuggle up beside her, kissing her cheek as I do. She cracks an eye open. "How are you still wearing pants?"

I laugh. "Someone was impatient earlier."

Her mouth twists. "I'm sorry," she says, but I shake my head.

"I'm not. You taking control like that? It was fucking hot."

She laughs lightly. "Maybe we can try it again sometime. But now, I really just need you inside me."

My balls are fifty shades of blue, but I hesitate. I know Katniss is exhausted, the stress of the day, the emotional upheaval of our talk, not to mention two orgasms.

"Peeta," she whispers, avoiding my eyes. "I need us." She can be so shy, even after nearly four years together. But I understand what she means. Us, our connection, our bodies joined.

I need that too.

My pants and briefs are quickly dispatched and I crawl between her thighs, twitching cock grasped in my hand as I gaze upon the woman I love. Then I'm sliding home, into her hot, wet embrace.

Katniss pulls me down to fuse our lips together, kissing me languidly. Lovingly. Her lean calves wrap around me, surrounding me. I wish I could make this last forever, but I'm already so close.

I slide in and out of her velvet grip slowly, shallowly, trying to hold back. Katniss feels so damned good, so soft underneath me, so tight around my dick, I'm shaking with the effort of trying to stave off the inevitable. Katniss noticed. "Let go," she whispers against my mouth. "Come in me." And I do, three hard, fast strokes and I come, more sigh than explosion as the pleasure flows through me, makes my whole body burn.

I all but collapse, shaky arms barely keeping any of my weight off my wife, who sighs contentedly underneath me. I haven't heard that sigh in what feels like forever, and it's almost better than the lovemaking that preceded it.

With what strength I can manage, I roll off Katniss, sinking into cool sheets even as I pull her tightly against me. She brushes gentle kisses along my throat, then tucks her head under my chin, into that spot where she's always fit just right.

I'm at peace. But it's a peace I'll never take for granted. "Katniss?" I whisper.

"Mmm?" she breathes, the sound skittering across my overheated skin.

"We have to talk these things out, okay? What we have together is too good to let die of neglect." I feel her nod before we both succumb to the exhaustion.

o-o-o

She shifts beside me in the dawn. By the time I can crack open an eye, she's climbed out of bed and is pulling a running shirt over her head. I clear the sleep from my throat and she spins, looking at me with trepidation. "Going for a run, Love?" I ask.

She nods, slowly, the uncertainty in her expression kills me. Reminds me that we are definitely a work in progress. One good conversation and some amazing sex aren't enough to have fixed everything, we still have plenty of work to do to reestablish trust.

"I'll make pancakes when you get back, if you think you can stomach them. Chocolate chip?" It's a small peace offering. I'm still worried about her, maybe I always will be. But I have to trust that she knows her body. And if I stop overreacting to the little things, then she'll be more apt to share the big ones.

"I'd like that," she murmurs. She turns to finish dressing, but I catch the barest hint of a smile lifting her lips.


End file.
